


Mallos

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Fingolfin finds a new treat in his gardens.





	Mallos

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: AU I guess where those that died have been released from Mandos’ Halls into Valinor, and Elrond’s sailed to them.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a gorgeous day, bright and blue with crisp, clear wind, gentle and alluring. Fingolfin finds himself drifting about the halls of his estate like he did in the long-past days before he ever ventured east. It changed him forever, even more so than the subsequent journey to Mandos’ Halls, but here, among Yavanna’s spring, he feels fresh and free again. He wanders to the balcony and peers over the railing, wanting nothing more than to watch the flowers bloom. In the courtyard below, the gardens thrive.

And a lone elf sits amongst them, perched delicately on the end of a stone bench. One pale hand lifts to brush dark hair behind a pointed ear, adorned in a silver circlet. The elf’s robes are crimson, laced trimly about the middle, and his posture is regal, his countenance strong. He looks to be a lord of some sort, though he must be one that’s sailed from the Dying Lands, or Fingolfin would know him.

At once, Fingolfin knows the course of his day. Bound as he is to these small lands, anything _new_ is welcome. He never wished to set out originally—he would’ve happily stayed in Valinor all his life. But he departed for his brother’s sake, and he grew used to wider lands, endless change, and even a new tongue. It’s been so long since he came here that he can’t help but wonder which this new elf will speak.

Winding swiftly down stairs and strolling quickly through corridors, Fingolfin finally makes it to the courtyard, pleased to see his mark still in place. The elf’s hands are now folded neatly in his lap, his handsome face contemplative as he eyes a dancing butterfly. He doesn’t move his gaze towards Fingolfin until Fingolfin’s nearly there.

Then the elf dips his head politely, and Fingolfin bows in return. Upon closer inspection, the elf looks older than he thought, or at least, more aged, but he still feels truly youthful to Fingolfin. He bears a similarly unique mixture of royal air and humble greetings. Fingolfin feels glad indeed to meet him.

He gestures towards the departing butterfly and sighs, “These are magnificent gardens, are they not?” His voice is genuine, his expression pure.

Fingolfin returns, “Thank you, for they are mine.” The elf startles slightly, and Fingolfin spreads his arms to continue, “I welcome you to my estate.”

“It is I who must thank you, then.” This time, the elf bows low, his silken hair tumbling over his shoulders to nearly sweep the paving stones scattered about the grass. When he straightens again, he explains, “I apologize for intruding. My step-fathers are visiting your son, I believe, and I was told that I was free to wander.”

“You are,” Fingolfin insists, smiling. He now knows who this stunning creature is, though this is their first meeting. He moves towards the bench, and Elrond obligingly shuffles over; the two of them fit neatly on it. He’s heard the name _Elrond_ in both letters and the gossip of his children, and he’d hoped their paths would cross at some point. 

For a moment, they’re both quiet. Under Elrond’s calm patience, Fingolfin lifts a hand to draw a soft line down Elrond’s jaw, compelled to _feel_ the artful difference. Elrond’s lashes flutter halfway closed, but he doesn’t move away from the tentative touch. Fingolfin can’t help himself. He thumbs Elrond’s cheek and murmurs, “I had thought you looked... unusual. You bear mortal blood, do you not?” It explains the both old and young appearance. Elrond’s gaze lowers, and he gently nods in Fingolfin’s hand. Fingolfin rushes to add, “Do not misunderstand me. I find you quite beautiful.”

Elrond lets out a little laugh, charming and song-like. It reminds Fingolfin vaguely of Maglor, though there’s a great power in Elrond more reminiscent of Maedhros. As Fingolfin’s hand slips away, Elrond glances up again to tell him, “I am honoured to be thought of so, especially in such a place.”

“You enjoy Valinor, then?” Fingolfin muses. He only hopes Elrond will stay long enough to tell him why, and to tell him the differences—what’s become of Middle Earth in the waning years. Elrond nods again.

“It is awe-inspiring and wondrously peaceful.”

Fingolfin can’t help but chuckle, “Even in the house of Fëanor?”

Elrond dons an amused smile that betrays his similar thoughts. “I admit my step-fathers can be a bit... difficult... but they are very dear to me, and their family has been good to me.”

“Good,” Fingolfin returns, “for they are dear to me as well. I have never felt quite right in homes that Nelyo was not always sneaking into.” At Elrond’s fond smile, Fingolfin adds, “You are also welcome here at any time. ...Perhaps you would even be so kind as to join me now for tea?” He hadn’t even meant to ask, but it slips out, and he doesn’t take it back. Elrond looks glad of the invitation.

He still answers, “I do not wish to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Fingolfin insists with a flick of his hand. “It would please me greatly to dine with such a lovely young thing.”

Elrond laughs delightfully. “I have not been called that in centuries, if ever. But I will gladly go.”

Fingolfin is the first to rise. He extends his arm, and Elrond delicately takes it. As Fingolfin leads his guest back towards the buildings, he sends the Valar a little prayer that Maedhros and Maglor take their time.


End file.
